Juxtapose

In his home where love and fear finely blend, 

The battle of two worlds silently wends. 

The father, a pillar, stern and devout, 

Held faith like a torch, casting shadows about. 

The father, with a bible firm in hand, 

Preaches of promised lands and divine command. 

But beneath the veneer of piety so bright, 

Lurked a darker hue, shrouded from sight. 

His son, a child, with questions so keen, 

Gazed at the stars, wondering what they mean. 

“In faith, why do we blindly confide?” 

He asked one eve, by his father’s side. 

The question, like a spark in the night, 

Ignited a fury, hidden from light. 

The father’s love, once soft and warm, 

Turned cold and sharp, a brewing storm. 

“Belief is not questioned,” he thundered loud, 

“A sin like that, cannot be allowed.” 

From words to action, his resolve did shift, 

A whip in hand, his method to sift. 

The lashes fell, each strike a statement clear, 

"Never doubt again," he whispered, "Do you hear?" 

The son, through tears, vowed silence in gritted screams, 

A promise born from pain, from shattered dreams. 

The son, through tears, saw a truth unfold, 

A love conditional, in a home so cold. 

Yet in his heart, where no one sees, 

The father’s doubts danced quietly. 

For in his youth, he too had wondered, 

About the lightning, the rain, the thunder. 

But fear of the unknown, and teachings old, 

Silenced the questions, bold and bold.